The past few weeks, I have been listening to – and haunted by – a song from Wynonna Judd titled “Flies On The Butter”. It is a masterpiece of country music, not only in the story line but in her amazing and lyrical voice. So many of the pictures she paints with the words are like looking into my own childhood – grandparents who loved you, food that was always made to be special, and time standing still.
I put a close friend on the spot a month or so ago when I asked her – should I die an untimely death – to please sing this song at my funeral. I invited her to work out all the details with my husband because, although I was dealing with a few musical items in advance, I would not be around to implement them. She gave me a quizzical look, possibly thinking I was joking, and then the light changed in her eyes and she said, “OK.”
I have always been a wee bit in love with our girl Wynonna. 
You see, she sings in my key, so our duets are outstanding and acoustically perfect inside the walls of my car. The songs she sang with her mother while a member of The Judds are good, but it’s the magic Wynonna has made since striking out on her own that lives in my soul.
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